


Flowers Make for Decent Cover

by floofboy



Category: Senyuu. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Flowers, Fluff, Gift Giving, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, blink and you miss it angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floofboy/pseuds/floofboy
Summary: Sion loves Alba with all his heart, but he'd also rather stand under a raging waterfall in the middle of winter than be the one to admit it first.But Sion loves Alba with all his heart, and he wants to show it, even if it's in a way that Alba won't notice.Flowers are the compromise.
Relationships: Alba Frühling/Ross | Creasion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	Flowers Make for Decent Cover

**Author's Note:**

> All flower meanings were taken from cursory googling in English and Japanese, I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Crea and Sion go to a tulip farm, and that’s where all of Sion’s problems begin. 

It’s a lovely place - tulips, red and white and yellow and more, stretching across the fields as far as the eye could see. The sky is clear, an unreal shade of blue, and Sion thinks it’s the most picturesque place he’s ever visited. 

(And he’s visited a lot of places, though mostly out of need rather than want.)

There’s a flower shop at the farm, a small place dedicated to selling some of their stock to tourists and visitors. Naturally, they check it out. 

And when they enter, Sion notices a large poster hung up behind the counter. Lovely art of every colour of tulip Sion could imagine, and underneath each one, an odd caption. 

_Deep, perfect love; confession_ , states the caption under the red tulip, in neat script. _Happiness; confidence_ states the caption under the pink one. 

It makes Sion curious, and so he asks the clerk- “What does that poster mean?”

“Oh, that?” the clerk glances back at the poster. “It’s a chart of flower meanings. Flowers tend to have meaning, you see, though they can differ from place to place.” Turning back, he smiles brightly at Sion. “The meanings we have up there are common to our country.”

“I see…” Sion says, contemplative. 

His eyes remain fixed on the poster. On one particular caption, really. 

So Sion asks, “Could I get a bouquet of red tulips?”

* * *

Here’s the thing. 

Sion loves Alba. 

He loves him so much, sometimes his throat constricts and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest just from a glance at Alba's smile. 

But the idea of ever _telling_ him that is disgusting. Horribly embarrassing, a shame Sion refuses to go through. 

Alba hadn’t picked Sion, had decided to stay when Sion left, and even while Sion knew it was going to happen, it still felt so very much like a rejection. 

(Even if he can’t help but hope sometimes that it wasn’t.)

His pride wouldn’t be able to take it if Alba rejected an actual confession, and that wouldn’t be very good. 

For Alba, of course. 

So he keeps his adoration a quiet secret, as a simple warmth that’s settled down in him and won’t leave. 

He wants so badly to express it at times though. 

It all comes out as sharp punches and derisive comments - because that’s the way he’s used to loving - but sometimes that’s not enough. 

These flowers, with their secret meaning, scratch at that itch. 

That’s why a couple days later, when he's come to tutor him for the month, he brings Alba the bouquet of lovely red tulips.

“Here you go,” Sion says dismissively, dropping the bouquet in Alba’s lap. It’s a simple bouquet, really, ten red tulips wrapped in white paper and tied with a thin pink ribbon. The flowers make up most of its beauty. 

“Wha-“ Alba scrambles to grab ahold of it before it falls. Holding it gingerly, he peers at it, looking confused. “Flowers?”

“Crea and I visited a tulip farm,” Sion says, by way of explanation. 

“Oh!” Alba exclaims. The smile he gives him is utterly blinding. “Thanks so much, Ros.” He brings the bouquet closer to his chest, looking so happy it makes Sion’s chest ache. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m sure it’s wasted on you,” Sion says with a snort. “But we were there anyways, so I thought I might as well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alba complains, pouting. It’s unfairly adorable. “I’ll have you know I actually know a lot about flo-”

“-Yes, yes,” Sion cuts in, “Hurry up and put it away, Hero. I come all this way to tutor you and you’re not even ready when I come. Honestly.”

“You literally just gave me this bouquet!”

“And now you’re blaming others.” Sion sneers. “I suppose I should’ve expected no less from a hardened criminal.”

“I am _not-_ ”

Sion has to hold back a smile as Alba puffs up angrily.

* * *

That should’ve been it. 

That should’ve been enough. 

Something small to scratch at the itch inside him that wants to take Alba into his arms and _squeeze_. To show Alba how much he cares with a secret confession that idiot hero would never understand. 

But the next town he and Crea go to has a florist, and Sion is… tempted. 

“Crea,” he says abruptly, “I’m going there for a bit. I’ll catch up soon.”

“To the florist?” Crea says, sounding confused but taking it in stride. “Okay! See you at the museum!”

And as Crea runs off, Sion cautiously enters the flower shop. 

“Welcome!” says the clerk from behind the counter, a polite smile on her face. 

“Um,” Sion says, glancing around. There’s a veritable array of flowers, tulips and pansies and plenty more he didn’t even know the names of, let alone the meanings. So he opens his mouth again to ask hesitantly- “Would you… know what these flowers mean?”

“Do you mean flower language? I know some,” answers the clerk. “Did you want to know the meaning of a particular flower?”

“No,” Sion admits reluctantly, feeling his face heat, just a little. He tucks his face behind his jacket collar to hide it. “I… wanted to know which flowers meant ‘love’.”

The clerk’s eyes widen, but she smiles again, more amused this time. It annoys him, but Sion isn’t about to take out his annoyance on some random stranger. 

(He wishes Alba were here.)

“If it’s romantic love you’re looking for, I have plenty of flowers for that in stock,” she says. “The classic would be red roses, of course.”

Sion immediately shakes his head. He hadn’t known they meant love - though it makes sense - but he _had_ known they were a classic romantic gift. If even a man from a thousand years past knew that much, there’s no way that Alba wouldn’t. No matter how dense he is. 

“I suppose they’re a little cliché,” the clerk says, unfazed. Standing up, she heads towards a display of larger flowers. Her hand cups one, a gentle red flower with countless petals surrounding a yellow centre. “How do you feel about camellias? I have some imported from up north.”

“What do they mean?” Sion asks. 

“Red means love, passion,” explains the clerk. “Pink means longing, and white means adoration. It’s up to you how many colours you’d like, but I think at least a couple would really make a camellia bouquet pop.”

And it probably would cost more too. The thought might be rather cynical, but it didn’t make it any less true. 

But he already knew he was going to waste money when he decided to come in here in the first place, so with a small sigh, he asks-

“Could I get red and pink?”

* * *

Crea blinks at him in surprise when Sion catches up to him with a bouquet held in his hands. 

It’s carefully arranged, sprigs of greenery inserted between the flowers, all tied up with a bright red bow. Sion is more than happy with it, even if it had cost a pretty penny. 

“What’s that?” 

“A bouquet,” Sion says, refusing to be embarrassed. “I was gonna give it to Hero later.”

“Hm,” Crea says neutrally. “Won’t it wilt by then?”

“I can ask Rchi if I could visit real quick tonight,” Sion says with a shrug. 

“True,” Crea agrees, then blinks at Sion. “Sii-tan?”

“What is it?”

“Is it normal for friends to give each other bouquets nowadays?” asks Crea curiously, and Sion chokes. 

“Maybe not, but,” Sion says with a cough. “I just thought Hero could use something to spruce up his cell, that’s all.”

“I see,” Crea says, then smiles brightly. “I’m cheering for you, Sii-tan!”

“Cheering for what?” Sion says derisively, and kicks Crea’s shin with a sharp foot.

* * *

Sion appreciates the look of utter shock on Alba’s face when he steps in front of his cell, bouquet held behind his back. 

“Ros?” Alba says, looking up from his desk. Despite the shock still on his face, the joy in his voice is unmistakable. “You’re here so early!” He smiles at him, blindingly bright. “I’m really happy…”

It kind of ticks Sion off that Alba isn’t showing even a single ounce of fear. 

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about your unfinished homework?” Sion asks sweetly. 

Alba jolts, and ah, there was the fear he’d been looking for. 

“It’s barely been a week!” Alba objects. “Of course I haven’t finished…”

“I can’t believe you haven’t finished a month’s work in a week,” Sion says with a sneer. “Pathetic.”

“Um, you just called it a month’s work, right? You’re hearing yourself, right?”

Ignoring him, Sion steps forward - nudging the cell door open with his foot - and in a swift move, whips the bouquet out from behind his back to drop it lightly onto the desk. 

Alba stares at it, incredulous, his eyes wide and voice silent. 

“The florist in a town we went to had a clearout sale,” Sion says, blatantly lying. “I just bought them because it’d be a waste if they were thrown away.”

“They’re camellias, right?” Alba says quietly, gently picking the bouquet. He sounds like he can’t believe his eyes. “Aren’t they out of season right now?”

“It’s an import, apparently,” Sion says dismissively. 

“I see,” Alba says, cheer growing in his voice. “I’ll have to ask Februar for another vase. A bigger one, this time.” He brings the flowers up to smell at them and smiles. “They’re really nice. Thank you so much again, Ros. I-“ His voice cracks, but he looks and sounds just as overjoyed as before. “I love them.”

Alba just looks so _happy_ , from something as silly as some flowers, and Sion’s not sure if his heart can take any more of this. 

“Don’t get so emotional, Hero,” Sion says derisively. “I just thought giving them to you would be _very_ slightly better than them rotting in a trash can.” He pauses, considering. “Or maybe it would’ve been about the same?”

But Alba doesn’t take the bait. 

“Flowers from Ros...” he murmurs happily, distracted. 

Sion bites his lip. Feeling the heat rise on his face, he quickly whips around. 

“Anyways,” he says primly, “I’ll be leaving now. Do try to finish your work before next month at least, Hero.”

“Oh, you’re leaving already?” Alba says, sounding disappointed. 

“I came late. I need to get back before Rchi goes to sleep.”

“I guess that’s true,” Alba says, still sounding disappointed. “Okay, Ros. See you soon!”

“Goodbye,” Sion says quickly, before hightailing it out of the cave.

* * *

The tulips may have started this whole issue, but it’s that second bouquet that takes Sion to the point of no return. 

He can’t stop buying Alba flowers. 

He starts actively seeking out florists, choosing towns with flower shops over even towns with sweets he’d prefer to try, and that’s what really makes Sion realize he has a major problem. 

(Not that he stops.)

The bouquets are always dropped carelessly on Alba’s desk, Alba’s lap, as though they’re trash with little value. He gives Alba flimsy excuse after flimsy excuse for the flowers, but thankfully, the idiot hero is still an idiot hero. He seems to buy the excuses - or at least Sion hopes. 

So Alba’s cell begins bursting with colour, vases placed all around on the ground and tables and newly-installed shelves. Dwarf sunflowers for adoration. Carnations, pink and red, because he could never forget Alba, and it hurts being apart. Salvias, red and blue, because of course he always thought of Alba…

(...and of course Alba is his forever.)

Sion has always thought flowers were nice enough, but he’s gained a new appreciation for them now. There were so many different flowers to say what he wanted, without actually saying what he wanted. 

As the months tick by though, he really begins to run out of new flower types to give. Red roses are one of the few that are left, and he's definitely not giving something as obviously romantic as those. He might have to resort to novel combinations of old bouquets. 

It’s asters that he buys when he starts scraping the bottom of the barrel. They’ve been mentioned by a few florists he’s visited when he asks them for flowers that mean love, but he's never really felt drawn to them. 

Asters mean ‘symbol of love’ - which was fine enough - but apparently, they also meant ‘daintiness’. 

Alba was really not dainty, and Sion was _definitely_ not. 

But that day, when he talks to the florist in the town he was in, asters are the only new flower she has. 

So Sion resigns himself to his fate. 

“I guess I’ll have to get asters then,” Sion says reluctantly. 

The clerk gives him an encouraging smile. “If you aren’t a fan of asters, I do have a wide variety of other flowers to offer.”

“No,” Sion shakes his head. “I’ve already given him the other ones you have that can mean-” he coughs “-love.”

“Oh, how romantic!”

Sion scowls. “Just make me a bouquet of asters, thank you.”

“Of course,” the clerk says easily, “What colours would you like? We have purple, white, and red in stock today.”

“Do they have different meanings?” Sion asks, a little curious. 

“All asters are known for love, patience, and daintiness, of course,” says the clerk, “But the different colours do have different symbolisms associated with them. Purple was for wisdom I believe, white was purity... I think red was devotion. Hm, or was that carnations?”

“Whatever, I’ll leave it to you,” Sion says with a sigh. “I’ll buy a dozen asters, whatever colours.”

“Of course,” the clerk says, voice friendly. “It’ll take me some time to prepare though.”

“That’s fine,” Sion says brusquely. 

The clerk glances up at him, a questioning look in her eyes. “Might I ask though - what do you dislike about asters? If it’s their appearance, I could always add in some nice filler flowers at extra cost.”

“No need,” Sion says, shaking his head. “I’m sure the asters look fine. I’m just…” He coughs. “I’m not a fan of one of its meanings.”

“Patience?”

“Daintiness.”

“Ah, I see,” the clerk says, smiling. “Is daintiness that bad? I’ve always thought that kind of delicate beauty fits many flowers well.”

“Maybe,” Sion allows, “But delicate means breakable.”

“Flowers are all easily destroyed when someone puts their mind to it,” the clerk counters, “But isn’t it nice we live in a world where they’re treated with enough care to thrive?”

Sion falls silent. 

“...How much will the bouquet be?” he asks finally, and the clerk doesn’t push more on the subject.

* * *

When Sion returns later to pick up the finished bouquet, he’s met with quite the shock. 

“These… are asters?” he says slowly, staring down at the bouquet in his hands. 

“You hadn’t seen them before?” the clerk asks, sounding surprised. 

“No, I have, just…” Sion trails off. “Aren’t these shions?”

“Oh, they _are_ called that in some regions,” the clerk says, “One of the purple variants at least.”

“I see,” Sion says sourly. 

He thinks he dislikes the flower’s meanings even more now. 

(He hadn’t spent years suffering as Creasion to be called _dainty_.)

“It has different meanings associated with them in those regions, actually,” the clerk comments. 

“Oh?”

“‘I can’t forget you,’” quotes the clerk, “‘My thoughts rest with someone who dwells far from reach.’”

“...Very romantic,” Sion says, voice a little strangled. 

Sickeningly romantic, in fact. He despairs that the flower he shares a name with has such disgustingly poetic meaning associated with it, and decides then and there that Alba can never be allowed to find out. 

(Especially when it applied so well to how he felt.)

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” the clerk says with a laugh. “But it actually comes from the story of a pair of brothers mourning their mother.”

Sion blinks. “Really?”

“The story goes that the two brothers faithfully visited their mother’s grave every day,” the clerk explains, “Eventually, however, the elder brother grew too busy to visit, and stopped going altogether. But the younger brother continued his visits, caring for the asters he’d planted around her grave.” She smiles. “After some time, a demon was impressed by his piety, and granted him the power of foresight as a reward. With this power, the younger brother is said to have lived happily ever after.”

“A silly story,” Sion says quietly. 

The younger brother lived happily ever after? He mourned his mother so much, he couldn’t bear not to visit her grave for even a single day. What use was power he gained too late to save who he cared for most?

Sion could never be that brother. 

(He’s never even visited Rchimedes’ unmarked grave.)

* * *

Despite Sion’s mixed feelings on the bouquet of asters, Alba seems to absolutely adore it, and Sion isn’t entirely sure why at first. 

“Maybe I can make my own vase for it,” Alba says contemplatively. 

“You’re not ready to be making physical objects like that,” Sion tells him, bonking a book on Alba’s head. 

“Ow,” Alba says mournfully. 

“Speaking of which though,” Sion says, looking towards Alba’s cot and the small end table next to it. 

A vase of red tulips sits on the table, as bright and healthy as the day Sion had gifted them to Alba. 

He bonks the book on Alba’s head again. “You shouldn’t be messing with preservation magic without me either.”

“Ow!” Alba whines again, rubbing at his head. “Preservation magic? What’s that?”

“What you’ve been doing to those flowers to keep them from wilting,” Sion says snidely. 

“Oh,” Alba says, blinking. “I was wondering why they weren’t wilting, but I thought it was just a demon world thing.”

Sion sighs loudly. “If you’ve been doing it unconsciously, then that’s worse.”

“Sorry…” Alba mumbles out. 

“Why did you want to preserve them so badly that your mana leaked out to do it?” 

“I mean, you gave me them…” mumbles Alba. “I guess I just didn’t want to see them die.”

If Sion had a little less pride and a little less shame, he might’ve said, _There’s no need to worry so much about each and every one of these when I’ll gift you as many as you’d like._

Sion is prideful however, so all he says is- “Creepy.”

“Hey!”

* * *

Sion teaches Alba how to use preservation magic properly, and to his surprise, Alba masters it easily enough. He supposes Alba’s been doing it unconsciously for a while. 

“You need to keep a better eye on your mana too,” Sion says bluntly, “If you can’t tell when it’s leaking out to fulfil your desires, you’ll never leave this place.”

“Right…” Alba says, looking morose. 

“Anyways,” Sion continues, “If you’d really like to make a vase, I suppose I can teach you that as well.”

To Sion’s relief, Alba visibly perks up. 

“Really? I thought you said I wasn’t ready.”

“You managed preservation fairly quickly,” Sion says dismissively, “It wouldn’t hurt to start you on simple creation spells.”

“Awesome,” says Alba, smile bright. “I want to give the shions the perfect vase.”

Sion pauses. 

“You… don’t call them asters?” 

“Oh, I mean,” Alba says as slowly, his cheeks stain red. “I usually do, but- shion sounds cuter, right?”

Sion’s heart skips a beat. 

What was- what was this idiot hero saying? He saw the double entendre there, didn’t he?

No. 

No, of course he didn’t.

Since when would anything register in this idiot hero’s mind?

So with a sharp smile and a swift move, he jabs a hand into Alba’s stomach. 

“Gak!” Alba chokes, arms wrapping around his stomach. “What was that for?!”

“Huh? Are you trying to make yourself seem more attractive by acting all cute, Hero?” Sion sneers down at Alba. “It just has the opposite effect. How disgusting. Don’t come near me.”

“You don’t have to be so mean,” Alba whines, “I just like having flowers with your name with me.” His gaze flicks down, and he mumbles, “...Since it’s not like I can keep you around…”

 _You can keep me for as long as you’d like,_ exclaims an excited voice in Sion’s head, but Sion ruthlessly squashes it into oblivion. 

It’s too late though, because Sion can feel his face _burn_. 

Gritting his teeth, he tucks his face into his collar in a weak attempt to hide it. 

“If you have enough time to worry about stupid things like that, study harder so you can leave already,” Sion tells him. 

“I guess you’re right…” Alba says, a little mournfully, then pauses. His head whips up, eyes widening- “Wait, Ros, does that mean-”

Sion slams a book into his face, and Alba is successfully distracted from that train of thought. 

(He refuses to let Alba see him blush, much less blush from something _Alba_ had said.)

* * *

When Sion visits Alba next, a week or so later with a bouquet of white jasmines in hand, Alba seems jittery. 

He accepts the bouquet as happily as ever, leaning it gingerly against a wall to be relocated later, but then he straightens up and coughs. 

“Um!” Alba says, “R-Ros?”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been practicing a lot,” says Alba, looking and sounding as though he wants to bolt out of the cell. He continues regardless, to his credit. “And, um, I wanted to show you something. To, uh, give you something.”

Sion blinks, a little confused, but inclines his head. 

“Alright,” he says, “Show me.”

“Thanks!” Alba says, voice squeaking. 

Then he’s lifting his hands, mana swirling around them, and-

All Sion can see are roses, red roses, bursting into existence in Alba’s hands. Two dozen, three dozen, more? Alba barely holds them all together, and the thornless stems and blooming flowers rapidly block his face, his chest. 

Alba pushes the whole lot at him, arms stretching but the ridiculous number of flowers still completely blocking him from view. 

“I-I love you too!” 

Sion _chokes,_ his heart rate increasing a few too many notches _._

“What?” he sputters. 

“I, um,” Alba’s voice begins to falter. “I love you too?”

“Where- what-” Sion doesn’t know where to start. “You- _Hero, what?!_ ”

“I just,” the flowers are drawn back a little, pressed to Alba’s chest. He mumbles, “I really love you, Ros. Will you-” He coughs. “Will you go out with me?”

Sion desperately schools his expression, even if Alba shouldn’t be able to see it from behind the mass of red roses. 

Then he coughs. 

“Hero,” he says, hoping his prim tone didn’t sound too forced. “What do you mean by you love me ‘too’?”

“I-I mean,” Alba stammers out, sounding a little confused. “You’ve been giving me flowers for months…”

“That-” was fairly damning, yes, but not solid evidence. Sion coughs again. “That was just because I didn’t want flowers to go to waste.”

“You ran into flower sales that often?” Alba asks doubtfully. 

“...There’s a flower surplus in the human world right now.”

“A surplus of only flowers that mean love?” Alba asks, equally doubtfully. 

A flush rises up on Sion’s neck. 

“Wh- you knew, Hero?!” he exclaims. “How could you know?! You’re Hero!”

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Alba complains. “I grew up in a forest, you know, I know a lot about flowers. I did think it might’ve been a coincidence the first couple times, but…” He peeks his head out from the side - face blushing - and smiles at Sion. “You’ve given me any flower I can think of that has something to do with love, except red roses.” He pushes the mass of flowers towards Sion again. “So I thought I should be the one to give those to you.”

Alba knew all along. 

The whole time, the secret confessions had never been much of a secret at all. 

He’d been openly professing his love to Alba every week for _months-_

His complete embarrassment is utterly unbearable, and normally, his response would be to punch Alba to get it out of his system. 

Unfortunately, the massive bunch of red roses is rather in the way and…

His heart beats faster. 

Alba just confessed to him. Worked his hardest to master creation magic, to create this ridiculous mass of red roses, for the sole purpose of asking him out. 

(His face was going to burn off from the heat.)

“Well,” Sion swallows. “I suppose this isn’t a half-bad confession, for an active convict.”

He slips a ribbon off from a nearby vase, taking a step closer to Alba and the roses. Carefully, he wraps the ribbon around, ties it tightly to keep the flowers from slipping. 

Then he takes the whole bunch from Alba’s hand. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try dating,” he says in a mutter. 

“Ros!” Alba’s voice is overjoyed. 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” Sion says quickly. “I said ‘try’.”

“Right,” Alba says, not sounding dejected in the slightest. 

Sion scowls. 

“I can’t take these flowers though,” he says flatly. “I’m on a journey. Where would I even put them?”

“Ah, right,” Alba says, and now he sounds embarrassed. Finally.

“It’s not like I can use preservation magic anymore anyways,” Sion continues. “So you keep it for now, Hero.” His eyes flick to the side. “I’ll take it when you can renew the preservation spells for me every morning, after you wake up.”

Alba is silent for a long moment, and Sion resists the urge to peek out from behind the mass of roses to see Alba’s expression. 

“Ros-” Alba says finally, voice annoyingly happy. “-Does that mean- you want me to give you these back when we’re m-”

“-Don’t jump to conclusions,” Sion quickly cuts in, pushing the flowers back at Alba. 

“Okay,” Alba says easily. 

(He still sounds happy though.)

Alba moves to carefully rest the flowers on his chair, their size and weight much too big to balance right against a wall. Sion thinks that’s the end of it, but then Alba plucks one rose from the bunch. 

“But,” Alba says, walking back towards Sion with a smile. 

He reaches up with the flower, gently tucking it behind Sion’s left ear. 

“You can keep that one with you, right?” Alba asks, lightly blushing. 

Sion tries and fails to hold back a similar blush from rising up on his face. 

“Are you stupid?” he grumbles. “I’m a grown man, I refuse to walk around with a flower tucked behind my ear.”

“I guess that can't be helped…” Alba says, looking dejected. 

“But I suppose I can wear it while I’m with you,” Sion continues, and Alba brightens. Then he flashes Alba a smirk. “So long as you’re wearing one too.”

“Geh-” Alba doesn’t look very enthused about the idea. 

Eyes narrowing, Sion slams his heel against Alba’s foot, and Alba lets out a pained yelp. 

“I see how it is,” Sion says sweetly. “You’ll put a flower in my hair, but you won’t do the same to yourself because it’s too embarrassing. Is it fun making fun of me, Hero?”

“That’s not it!” Alba objects immediately. “You look really nice with it, I’m sure I won’t.” He flushes a little more. “It matches your eyes…”

“And I’m sure you’ll look lovely with it too,” Sion says flatly, then goes to snatch a rose from the mass. He returns and smiles brightly as he neatly tucks the rose behind Alba’s ear. Then he continues- “There we go.”

“Urgh…” Alba looks up at him, face bright red. “It doesn’t match, doesn’t it?”

Sion blinks down at him. 

Alba, blushing at him, hair a little tousled, lovely red rose tucked behind his ear. 

He’s absolutely adorable. It fits perfectly. Red is the best colour on Alba, in Sion’s biased opinion. 

“Oh, it matches you perfectly,” Sion says sardonically, letting a snicker escape his mouth. “Definitely doesn’t look out of place at all.”

“I knew it,” Alba groans. “But fine, I guess if it means you’ll wear yours…”

“Only in here,” Sion says quickly. 

“Yeah, I know,” says Alba, smiling up at Sion. “That’s all I want.”

"I want a lot more, Hero," Sion informs him, voice prim. "So you'd better be prepared to satisfy me."

"Ah, I'll-" Alba swallows, looking nervous. It's all painfully endearing. "I'll do my best!"

"We'll see," Sion says mildly.

But he can't help a smile spreading across his face, can't help the joy welling up inside of him-

And if Alba notices that, well, Sion supposes it doesn't matter too much.

(When he already knows that Sion loves him, knowing he made Sion happy as well wouldn't be much of a surprise.)

All that matters, really, was that Alba had confessed. Alba had said he wanted to be with Sion, Alba had reached out instead of rejecting. Sion would happily reach right back, when Alba is finally giving him what he's wanted for so long.

There's only one thing he hopes for still, just one little thing.

(He doesn't think he can stop giving Alba flowers at this point, so he hopes he'll still accept them.)

**Author's Note:**

> they then proceed to move in together in a house filled with eternally blooming flowers. I do not care how cheesy that is, thank you for coming to my ted talk.
> 
> hit us up at the [senyuu discord](https://discord.gg/EPxGygy) if you'd like!


End file.
